


(千羽鶴) A Thousand Paper Cranes

by daughterofthesky



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 1930s, 1940s, 2000s, Aged-Up Character(s), Best Friends, Bombing, Bombs, Chaos, Childhood, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Falling In Love, First Love, Friendship, Growing Old, Growing Up, Growing Up Together, Historical References, Innocence, Japan, Lee Minho | Lee Know-centric, Loss of Innocence, M/M, Misery, Origami, Personal Growth, Time Skips, War, Wartime, World War II, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 17:14:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16623065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daughterofthesky/pseuds/daughterofthesky
Summary: A thousand orizuru (折鶴 ori- "folded," tsuru "crane", or paper crane) strung together is called senbazuru (千羽鶴), meaning "thousand cranes". It is said that a thousand cranes need to be made in order for a wish to come true... Minho just thinks of Hyunjin.OR alternatively, in wartime, Minho tries to find Hyunjin.





	(千羽鶴) A Thousand Paper Cranes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by ["Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes"](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/432605) by Eleanor Coerr. 



> PLEASE READ THE TAGS CAREFULLY !!! this au deals with sensitive topics such as world wars and bombs, do not read if you don't feel comfortable with such things. thank you !  
>  ADDITIONAL TAGS (CONTAINING SPOILERS) AT THE END OF THE AU, PLEASE IF YOU HAVE ANY KIND OF TRIGGERS READ THE END NOTES THANK YOU AGAIN

_**Japan, before World War II** _

 

Lee Minho had mastered the art of origami at a very young age—having moved to Japan before he turned five—and his enthusiasm, fascination and undeniable skill led him to spend countless of afternoons folding papers and creating the most magnificent and extraordinary paper figures—such as animals and flowers—and craftsmanship a little boy could have ever made with his bare baby hands. He was an expert, each time getting more and more eager to get his hands on the paper before him and allow his imagination to take over. He allowed himself to develop his skill and techniques and be constructive towards his art, for he allowed himself to grow both as a person and as an artist through origami. It was wondrous and inspiring, how much dedication he had, how much time and effort he used on it. He didn't mind the time he spent alone, for he was shy and easily intimidated and introverted, but he was also creative and cheerful and innocent, just a kid. He was proud of himself, and often gifted his creations to the people he was fond of, especially Hwang Hyunjin. The younger was Minho's admirer, besides his childhood and closest friend; he would occasionally ask Minho to make him paper cranes of the brightest colors, and give them different sizes and patters and each time he would make Hyunjin a different figure, to his amazement and bewilderment. It was a friendship that blossomed as the seasons went by and disappeared behind another: they used to spent a lot of time together growing up, for they were also neighbors and saw each other every day. They used to walk to school together and back home, talking about what they had done that day and about what they would be doing next. It was such a pity though, that they didn't share the classroom: Hyunjin was two years younger than him. But the age difference never seemed of importance to them, it never got in the way of playing and laughing and talking about what they were thinking, how they were feeling.

Growing up also meant falling in love, and each day Minho would find a new reason to love Hyunjin. He was in love with his cheeks that always seemed flushed and his black, soft hair that did a lively dance every time he ran down the street to meet him and his warm smile which made his heart swirl. And his personality, which was so different than his: he had a kind of brutal honesty that tested most friendships, but he appreciated it, especially when it came to his origami. Minho always knew where he stood with him. And Hyunjin was generous to a fault, both with his time and his possessions. He got the feeling that Hyunjin had few friends, just like him, but his loyalty to those who stuck with him was fierce; it was truly admirable. But yet they were the same: they had the same thoughts and likes and feelings towards life and the future and they always talked about how much wonder there was beyond them, how much there was out there that they had yet to discover for themselves. How time was an ally yet an enemy, and they couldn't wait to grow up and move back to their dear South Korea which they missed deeply: Hyunjin couldn't even recall his childhood house, or his friends but he missed the smells and the food and the rest of his family. But their parents had moved to Japan, thinking that a new and a better life awaited them.

Lee Minho and Hwang Hyunjin believed in a world that was new, like every other kid living in Japan during the 1930s, oblivious to what was about to happen. They believed there was so much more beyond their Hiroshima and that one day, in the near future, they would see this world of change and progress and constant development through their very own eyes, and that they would go on an adventure and get to know the world they lived in, instead of being stuck in a small city forever—for their hearts longed for so much more than Hiroshima could offer.

 

**_Japan, 1939_ **

 

When the Second World War broke out, Lee Minho was eleven and Hwang Hyunjin was nine. They were unaware of what being at war meant, and the change it brought with it, their lives abruptly altered but their parents did the best they could to prevent this drastic change from affecting them, and convinced their sons the war would be over soon. Somehow, they weren't worried; they still had the innocence of childhood with them.  
Lee Minho and Hwang Hyunjin believed in a world that was new, like every other kid living in Japan in 1939. But the world was old then, and people's hopes deteriorated. Still, they both held the memory of Hiroshima in their minds. But they were growing in a changing Hiroshima; a climate of fear, between silent and depressed adults, sharing with them the scarce food, like the soup and the rice, and they lived in between the constant horror and the arguments at dinner, sitting down around the radio channel, listening how the world died a little bit more each passing day, leaving them behind to remember Hiroshima, and Japan and the rest of the world, the way it used to be before the tragedy of war struck. More war and deaths each day, so much the people grew used to it, and there was no more sadness, just tiredness. Minho and Hyunjin didn't quite understand what was going on, and they were too young and innocent to realize what had swallowed them entirely. Nevertheless, they believed the world was new and every night, they anxiously longed for tomorrow to come faster and discover them.

Apart from the outside war they inevitably faced each day, they were finding themselves in between the chaos and the misery. There was no denying that they had feelings for the other, Hyunjin's constant blush near Minho began to develop together with his feelings. Minho, on the other hand, began to babble each time he was with the younger, and began giving him more and more origami figures until his hands hurt and he couldn't keep his focus any longer. It was cute, how much they liked each other yet how shy this kind of love was, how _innocent_. They were both kids after all, and there was nothing sillier than a first love.

Despite the war, they were in their own world. They would glimpse at each other discreetly, their eyes colliding and forming walls around them, depriving them from reality. They would build them up so that they could go through life together, nothing getting in the way of their long awaited tomorrows.  
They had grown silent around the other; they had become used to their loud feelings. Their affection sought no words, yet it was bliss.  
But Minho knew he adored Hyunjin, that more than once would keep himself without eating lunch so that he could give Hyunjin his own food, which he had carefully brought from home wrapped in a thin cloth.  
"I'm not hungry," he would lie to Hyunjin, when he saw him more than once eat a couple of biscuits—not more—for lunch. "I'll give you my food." And then he would rush off to play with his classmates, so that Hyunjin wouldn't have guilt nor shame of devouring his generous ration. And he was grateful, of course, the way he was always grateful towards Minho: for he made him feel joyous again.

Minho would often dream amid the outer chaos and tragedy; he would dream of watching the sunset once more before the sky turned cloudy and grey—almost suffocating—and that he would lay down in a green field, surrounded by flowers and a warm summer breeze. He would picture a single bench on the edge of a cliff looking over the ocean. And Hyunjin would be there, welcoming him to sit next to him and cuddle until there was nothing anymore. Until the war outside disappeared and the sky returned to its rightful color and that there would be no more fear among people, just love. Just peace.

 

_**Japan, 1945** _

 

The future came sooner than they would have ever expected, bringing with it a rather punctual summer. Yet they didn't want summer to ever begin: it would mean they would be apart from each other. Minho's family would be travelling to the small village of Miyashima, where a friend of his parents waited for them—he would be spending the rest of the summer without seeing Hyunjin. It was a bittersweet feeling, how they had to patiently wait for school to start so that they could meet again. They would miss each other, there was no doubt about that, but even so Minho was excited; he had never been to Miyashima before, and it made him feel as if he was going on an adventure—his first ever adventure. But then again, without Hyunjin there was no real adventure; he would miss his best friend profoundly.

By 1945, Minho was already a young man; at sixteen—almost seventeen—he was beginning to look tough and composed, and was taller than any other guy in his class. Yet inside that body, there was a kid, a kid locked in the innocence of war and growing up and excluding himself from the real sight; the sight of war. Hyunjin, barely fifteen, was still eager to grow up for once, and Minho was glad that after all those years he hadn't changed at all: he still had the enthusiasm and energy and innocence of childhood.

Both June and July went by faster than they had wished. Minho had spent those two months far from Hyunjin, but nevertheless he was having fun; he would go down to the rice fields with his newly made friends and catch frogs and insects and rocks and he learned to enjoy a different kind of company, one that didn't rely solely on Hyunjin. He began to enjoy quiet, peaceful environments, places where Hyunjin's laugh couldn't be heard, places which lacked a feeling of home but that made him feel brand new, like he was changing somehow, reconnecting with his inner self. Like little Miyashima was getting into his veins. But he still had a little bit of Hiroshima in him, and he would let it show through the origami, which he just simply couldn't leave behind—after all, it was a part of himself. It reminded him of Hyunjin, as if he was with him, and he would smile to himself in pleasure, nostalgic.

Then August came, without them knowing it. The war was still going, bringing with it more casualties, chaos, misery, scarce, horror and fear. Nobody was sure of anything anymore, but Minho and Hyunjin had grown used to it by then, after inevitably growing up in that environment they just couldn't escape. People didn't sell anything anymore, as money was not of importance to them: safety was. Being far from home and the ongoing war didn't prevent Minho from origami: his now thinner and paler and longer hands and fingers still folded the paper with the same dedication and pleasure as the times before.  
"For when the war ends," his father would say, "Everything will be over someday…" he would mutter under his breath, like a hopeful wish. And Minho would feel like peace was such a beautiful thing, because his mother's eyes seemed to lit up every single time they referred to the end of the war, the same way his eyes lit up every time he remembered Hyunjin back in Hiroshima.

And Hyunjin? The first of August he woke up restless, having dreamt that he had seen Minho making his way to his house after the long trip to Miyashima. "A few more days to go," he thought to himself; he would be seeing his best friend in a week and a half. Hyunjin wanted time to go by faster, to swallow the remaining days and for that day to come sooner. He got up and tiptoed to the window, opening it with a relief: a warm morning welcomed him with a touch of sunlight. He returned the smile.  
The second and third of August he discovered a secret passion; he wrote his very first haikus:

 

_Morning. Sun._  
_I wake up with a smile._  
_Warmth. Light. You melt my ice._

 

 

_Heart, wait for him to come back._  
_Soon._  
_Soon the flowers will bloom._  
_And he will return to me._  
_Time._  
_That is all you are to me, a beautiful memory._

 

Then, he gifted them: one for his mother and one for his grandmother. He would write another one for Minho in the future, just as the older had always gifted him paper cranes and other of his origami creations. He was finally paying him back! He beamed in happiness at the thought of Minho's astonishment at what he would be doing for him. "But not now," he thought to himself, "we still have the future."  
Hyunjin spent the fourth and fifth of August helping his family; he didn't know sewing could be fun. The boys his age weren't used to doing stuff their mothers and grandmothers usually did—they just played outside and helped their fathers with 'manly' work, as things were at that time—but he found it entertaining; he felt useful. Hyunjin had the ability, creativity and ingenuity enough to turn sewing into a game, which people around him couldn't understand; how could a boy find sewing enjoyable? Even the girls his age were astounded at what the boy was doing, how he didn't find it boring and tiring like them. But they couldn't see through Hyunjin's eyes: every time he sew, he would imagine that every two hundred stitches could hold a wish so that it could be fulfilled. The needle came and went through hundreds of clothes, consistent, just like Hyunjin. Every time he sewed something new, he would ask for a wish, the same wish in every single stitch: for Minho to never forget him, and to come back to him.  
And the wish did come true eventually. But the world had other plans...

 

_**Hiroshima, Japan, August 6th, 1945** _

 

Hyunjin would have expected to wake up like the days before, hugging the end of summer and touching the gentle sunlight and counting a day off until he would see Minho again. He would have expected to be woken up by his mother's sweet voice, or the sun beating down on his skin, or at least to its warmth and delicacy.

Eight in the morning on the sixth of August of 1945, Hyunjin wakes up with Minho in mind, "What is he doing right now?"  
"Now," Minho thinks, fishing on the small island of Miyashima while he wonders, "What is Hyunjin doing right now?"  
Instantly, the enemy flies over the sky of Hiroshima. In it, men in white press buttons and an atomic bomb inhabits a clear sky for the first time; the Hiroshima sky.

Eight in the morning on the sixth of August of 1945, billows of massive smoke bathe Hiroshima in a thick, asphyxiating cloud of death.  
An odd shining glows over the city, covering it in dust and ashes and debris. In it, a mother wakes up his son for the last time. Two old friends greet each other for the last time. A dozen of kids sing for the last time. A hundred of women repeat their chores for the last time. Thousands of men think about tomorrow for the last time.

Eight in the morning on the sixth of August of 1945, the Second World War looks like it is getting closer to its end.  
Hyunjin heads out to play with his friends. The bomb explodes silently. Half a million people disintegrate that morning. And with them trees, buildings, families, schools, bridges, animals disappear—vanish, perish,—along with Hiroshima's past.

The world dies a little bit more.

Hiroshima dies that sixth of August of 1945.

 

**_Japan, October 1945_ **

 

It took Minho and his family one whole month to return to their home, Hiroshima, now entirely destroyed, and exactly two months for Minho to find Hyunjin. He was alive— _thankfully_ —but his parents had not been as lucky and had unfortunately passed away. He was in a hospital near Hiroshima, fighting for his life, together with a hundred thousands of others who had survived the horror, even though that horror was now installed inside of them, in their own running blood.

So one morning, Minho rushed to the hospital. The heat had disappeared and even though it was not quite winter yet, he felt cold, without knowing if it was the cold outside or his thought that made him shiver. He remembered the overwhelming feeling of uncertainty and discomfort and worry and unceasing weeping; Minho had never stopped believing, not even for one second, that Hyunjin hadn't survived the catastrophe.  
Hyunjin was lying on one of the beds by the window, face upwards, sight fixed on the ceiling. His characteristic smile was gone, as if it had never been there. He had swellings on his neck and behind his ears, and purple spots had formed on his legs; Hyunjin had developed leukemia due to the radiation—a disease Minho's mother referred to as "atom bomb disease." He had become a _hibakusha_. It broke Minho's heart seeing him in that state, in so much pain. On his desk, a few paper cranes laid scattered and disarrayed.  
"I did them the best I could," he said, voice weak and barely a soft whisper, "I did them from memory."  
"They are beautiful," he replied, curving his lips barely into a smile. "I'm proud."  
Hyunjin nodded, closing his eyes. Minho thought he had fallen asleep but then he said, blatantly, "I'm going to die, Minho," he whispered again, but this time he wasn't looking at his friend: his stare was fixed on the cranes. "I'll never reach the one thousand cranes I need…"  
With a shrunken heart, Minho counted the paper cranes. Just seventeen. Then, he gathered them carefully—as so not to damage them—and shoved them in one of the pockets of his oversized jacket.  
"You're going to get better, Hyunjin," he said, but his friend was no longer listening to him: Hyunjin had already fallen asleep. He left the hospital choking on his own tears.

Minho spent the rest of the day making paper cranes. He had used newspapers, magazines, wrapping paper, old notebooks, and some old books he was absolutely sure no one read anymore. He was certain that he had never made that many, but his hands were a machine; unstoppable, unhuman. He was exhausted, even though he loved origami, his body ached but he worked harder, the only thought in his mind being that of Hyunjin. He _needed_ him like never before. Minho also cried that night like never before, tears oozing out of his eyes silently as his hands moved diligently and consistently. Hyunjin's pain was his drive.  
The night came. Minho stayed awake, waiting for everyone to fall asleep so that he could continue what he had started. "They wouldn't understand," he thought. So, he stood up stealthily and opened the closet where the blankets were usually arranged. Biting his tongue, he extracted the pile of papers he had collected in secret and went back to his bed, scissors in hand. That same night, he finished the nine hundred and eighty three paper cranes Hyunjin yearned for.  
Sunrise. Minho passed threads through paper silhouettes. He separated the fragile cranes in groups of ten and prepared them to imitate flight, suspended as they were from a light thread of sewing, one on top of the other. With chapped fingers and a thudding heart, Minho placed the one thousand strings inside of his _furoshiki_ and parted towards the hospital before his family woke up. There was no time to lose, Minho was losing Hyunjin, and his life depended on those paper cranes.

"No visits at this time of the day," a nurse told him, impeding the access to the room in which his best friend lay.  
Minho insisted, "I just want to hang these cranes over his bed. _Please_." He then proceeded to show the nurse the paper cranes he had made in between tears and the unholy hours of the night. He had never worked so hard with origami in his life, and for the first time, he wasn't proud: he was sad.  
The nurse didn't have the heart to send him away. "Just five minutes."

Hyunjin was sleeping peacefully. Trying not to make the slightest sound, he grabbed a chair and started hanging the one thousand paper cranes. He made great effort and stretched higher and higher until he covered the whole space. He came down and admired what he had done: a thousand paper cranes of the most dazzling colors and patters were hanging from the ceiling, hundreds of strings intertwined, firmly held in place with pins. Then he noticed Hyunjin looking at him, eyes slowly opening.  
"They're beautiful, Minho. Thank you."  
"They are all yours, Hyunjin," he said, eyes glinting, sight fixed on the paper cranes that seemed to dance with the chilly dawn breeze, "Every single one of them is yours." But as soon as he looked down at his friend, he realized he had fallen asleep again, eyes weakly shut.  
He took a step closer to him and whispered, "I like to think back to when we were children. I knew from the moment I met you that I loved you. How different you are now, all the softness replaced by sharp edges and chiseled lines. But a bit of softness does remain, in your eyes, in the tender curve of your smile. If only you knew how fond I am of you. I only have to think of our childhood days to feel your smile and your warmth spreading though my weary heart. I only have to close my eyes to see us on our old street, you in short pants and me in a white shirt I was all set to ruin," he gasped, mind reeling on the memories that hadn't died, that would never die. "Do you remember the mud pies and the wars we waged on the ants? Do you remember the origami I used to gift you, all those cranes and flowers and figures? I could meet a million fabulous people, all of them with interesting lives and a thousand fascinating stories to tell, and not one of them could replace you," Minho smiled, tears trickling down his face as he gazed at his friend, but he smiled. He remembered who Hyunjin had been, and how much he had impacted his life. And he knew, he would never have a best friend like him ever again.

Minho left the room without the weight of a thousand paper cranes and of a first love. He loved Hyunjin, and he knew he loved Minho back.

When the nurse came in, the paper cranes were still flowing through the wind, sending a wish away into the sky.

Hwang Hyunjin passed away on October 21st, 1945, a few days before his best friend's birthday. He had died an orphan, but surrounded by love and a thousand paper cranes.

 

_**South Korea, 2001** _

 

Lee Minho turns 73. He is yet another man of steel beaten down by old age. His hair, once a shimmering black curtain, is now just a frilly white thing. His porcelain face has withered with time and has left him nothing but a frail layer of skin. His eyes that were once full of light—so bright it would save any soul lost to the shadows, that used to reflect the kind of warmth and love only a summer sun could give away—are now gone, that light has disappeared behind the tears and the misery of the unforgotten past that haunts him.

Yet his eyes come alive when he remembers Hyunjin. He still recalls the time when they had separated for the summer, that time would slow to a trickle and those sunny weeks were an age. Now he would give anything to go back and find a way to spend that time by his side, savouring those moments, urging his parents to stay in Hiroshima with Hyunjin. As Hyunjin lay dying in that hospital bed, time flooded through Minho's fingers with no regard for his feelings. He wishes he could have just stopped moving forward and exist in that moment together. Not thinking, not breathing, just not apart. Then he would have lay next to Hyunjin just to feel his body's heat and bring his head close to his. He never folded a paper and created his beautiful origami again after his death.

The thing he remembers most about those last couple of days before he left for Miyashima is how peaceful they were. How the summer sun shone brightly upon the habitants of Hiroshima, who carelessly strolled along the rivers and spent time rejoicing with their families despite the ongoing war. Life seemed simple—and it probably was, despite the war—but it was the kind of simplicity one can only find in times before great complexity. It was the calm before the storm. And the storm coming was going to be on a scale he'd never forget.

The future was always something Minho had never worried about when he was a kid. He never gave thought to all the time that was enclosed his life into only a small speck in a timeline, despite his small mind and innocence. He had so much time. So much time that he let it slide through his fingers like worthless pennies. So much time that he watched it drain. So much time that he let it vanish. So much time he watched it dissolve like a mirage across a desert. So much time he stood as it flew across the empty horizon. And now he realizes that he had so much time, and wasted it. Now he realizes that for some of them, _that_ day was their last tomorrow.

A few decades ago, he was offered a job in Japan near Hiroshima, just like his father. But he had declined the offer, nobody really understanding why: he was going to be paid a triple of what he was earning, and plus, he had nothing to lose in South Korea—he didn't have children nor a wife. There had been nothing in South Korea for him. But he had known, there was nothing in Japan for him either.

Young Lee Minho eventually did move to his dear South Korea, but not for the reasons he would have liked. Japan was too much Hyunjin, and even though he didn't want to escape him, in the end he did somehow. South Korea was not an adventure, but a refuge; a refuge from the overwhelming memories.

 

 

_An ancient Japanese legend promises that anyone who folds a thousand origami cranes will be granted a wish by the gods. Some stories believe you are granted happiness and eternal good luck, instead of just one wish, such as long life or recovery from illness or injury. A thousand paper cranes are often given to a person who is often seriously ill, to wish for his/her recovery. The crane in Japan is one of the mystical or holy creatures and is said to live for a thousand years: that is why one thousand cranes are made, one for each year. In some stories it is believed that the thousand cranes must be completed within one year and they must all be made by the person who is to make the wish at the end._

 

When he looks at paper cranes, his heart flutters and he smiles, his eyes gleaming once more before the memory fades.

 

Minho just has one wish, and it's Hyunjin.

**Author's Note:**

> TW: cancer/leukemia, death  
>  hibakusha: a Japanese term meaning "bomb-affected person"  
>  furoshiki: a type of traditional Japanese wrapping cloth traditionally used to transport clothes, gifts, or other goods.  
>  i hope u liked this work !! it was super challenging for me to write about historical references because i had to do research and inform myself on what i was about to write  
>  also, i know i could've described the brutality of war better and in more detail but i wanted you to read this au not through the eyes of an adult but through the eyes of a child  
>  fun fact the haikus were totally spontaneous and came to my mind unexpectedly and i know they suck :)  
>  you can find me [here](https://curiouscat.me/180325)  
>  KUDOS AND COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED :D


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